


1-46: A collection of short stories.

by Jeanvalvernairdienjoleponius



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:04:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeanvalvernairdienjoleponius/pseuds/Jeanvalvernairdienjoleponius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories explaining the life and times of Alexander Hamilton, based off of the musical. One short story per song. Very few lines of dialogue because I wanted to go with what's said in the song and give more the feel of what's going on instead of what's being said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1-46: A collection of short stories.

Alexander Hamilton.  
Alexander pondered just how hard it was going to be for him to move into a new country. America was entirely different from Nevis, and he knew hardly anything about what he might find when he finally arrived to this new country. All he knew is that it was going to be better than what could have happened for him if he’d stayed. There was absolutely nothing substantial for him in Nevis. After all, even if he’d gone and become a landowner, or the man in charge of a trading post, or just gotten married to whoever people thought was right for him, it would never be enough. He could never accept a life in which he died in mediocrity. Even if he died in the middle of a war, at least he would have a story behind him. No bland life. No lack of a future lying ahead of him. There was just the open sea, and America surely was ahead of him. If he died in the colonies, at least he would have moved himself out of Nevis. If he had children, they would be American children, they would be proud of being from this great country. A whole life now was in front of his eyes, he could feel the need for it. It was tantalizing. Every possibility was now in reach, everything he’d dreamed of was in front of him. As he sat down, he breathed the word, America. It was his now.

Aaron Burr, Sir.  
Alexander felt the tension rise in him as he approached Aaron Burr. He very much looked up to him, so he didn’t want what little shred of dignity he had to him to fade away if Burr didn’t think highly of him when he first met. Having an inaccurate birth year should have helped, but what if Aaron Burr had figured out? What if he was in trouble because of this? Shaking off the thought, he lightly tugged on the shirt of a person he could only hope to be Aaron Burr. As the man turned around, he panicked and blurted out, “Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?” The man tensed and stared back at Alexander, looking confused and shocked that someone would ask him something like that. “That depends, who’s asking?” Came the response. Alexander fought off the urge to roll his eyes and instead launched into a conversation about himself, growing increasingly more excited until Burr gave him a piece of advice that just could not work in any way. He should hold his tongue instead of continue talking, even if he was passionate about something. Alexander wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t ruin his chances with this man of prestige. Instead, he let himself grow increasingly more uncomfortable at the thought of being silenced as soon as he reached America sunk in. He really needed a drink.

My Shot.  
Alexander could feel his heart quickly pulsing in his chest as his friends described their goals for the country. It was amazing to finally find someone who didn’t care about where he’d come from and didn’t want to say that he would never be able to accomplish his goals, or that it was unlikely that any change could happen other than a bad one. Having the room filled with like-minded people gave Alexander a sense of hope and joy that he didn’t know was even possible. After his friends had stopped talking, he could feel a buzz about him. A shiver ran through him as he felt the intrigued stares of the people standing around him, expectant and just as excited as he was. They were expecting him to talk, and that he did. He spewed all of the words that had been frustrating him and building inside of him, as if crashing through a dam of negative thoughts. The words poured out, syllable after syllable of his doubts and ideals, matching his anticipation, his excitement, his joy. Everything burst out of him in an amazing crescendo of pace and volume, until everyone, even those who hadn’t been involved in the conversation, couldn’t help but look up at him and listen to what he was saying. Every word reached them, they were absolutely hooked on what he was saying. It was at that point when he realized that everyone was staring at him, and he backed down a slight bit. He apologized, but when he looked back at his friends their eyes had been lit by a feverish glint of the fire he’d felt in him while he was talking. Alexander was fueled by rage and determination to rise above his past and create a new legacy. He was encompassed the thought of being able to live on in history as someone who changed the world, someone who built a country, someone who was right in some things and wrong in others, but in the end was important. His light had just been transferred to his friends, and none of them could seem to wait for the next time to show it off. 

The Story of Tonight.  
Having friends was not as hard as Alexander had initially expected it to be. In finding Burr and intriguing him enough to be brought to a bar, he’d stumbled upon a group of people who thought the way he did and accepted him in his entirety. There was no way something like that could be a coincidence, it was absolutely predestined to be this way. Now he could just talk and laugh and marvel at just how wonderful all of his friends were. The alcohol was making him drowsy and warm, and everything was prettier to look at. The world seemed particularly stunning when John Laurens stood up and proposed a toast to freedom and everything it entailed. Even if these four men were unable to see the product of their work, freedom was still more important than their lives. John made everything sound so much better than it ever had in Alexander’s head, and even if he'd disagreed with him initially he knew he would follow that man to the ends of the world after hearing that speech. It was a rather touching moment, Alexander had to lean on Mulligan for some support, as he almost slipped down to the floor in his pitiful attempt to stand up and propose a second toast to the states. He instead laughed and smiled at Laurens, shaking his head as John was able to function almost perfectly and Alexander was hardly able to stand. It was bliss. 

The Schuyler Sisters.  
Angelica smiled as she looked at the street in front of her. She was finally here, exactly where she wanted to be, the center of the action in New York City. She felt a tugging insistence that she wasn’t allowed to be here, but it couldn’t compare to the marvel of the fact that she was here. Inside the beginning of the unrest that would lead to revolution. There was a spark in the air, she could feel it as she walked. A sort of hum of excitement from what everyone knew was coming. That excitement, though, was always shattered when men realized who she really was. They would always try to impress her with their riches and the fact that they would be able to provide her later on in life with the money she most definitely needed. Of course. Because her father obviously didn't have enough money to give her already. Angelica pushed down a disgusted sneer as she saw someone approaching her. She recognized his type and felt as though she should know who he was. He introduced himself and the name clicked in her mind. Aaron Burr, the man who was single-handedly going to begin the revolution with an intense lack of ideals of his own, solving problems using only his vastly superior intelligence and entirely perfect morals. Of course. She scoffed at him when he tried to excite her with his name and the fact that he was well-known in the area. Pish posh. She couldn’t care less about that when he had nothing worthwhile to give her. He had nothing that could make her any happier than she was, and she brushed him aside as she walked past him. He followed her for a second, but apparently decided that it was useless to try and gave up. Angelica proceeded, sisters following, into the spark of the revolution.

Farmer Refuted.  
Samuel could feel a nervous tremor in the crowd that was beginning to grow around him, but he still held his head up high to what was coming. These people were going to hear what he had to say, and it was going to be amazing because they would finally understand why he thought the way he did. And they would start to feel the same way. They'd stop trying to make their own country. That dream was useless and annoying and it was easier just to stay with the king. Samuel stared at the paper that was in his hands, noticing a slight shakiness to it. Taking a deep breath, he began to read what was written on his paper, voice clear and demanding and convincing. It was better than he could have imagined, and the crowd was beginning to latch on to what he was saying, until he heard a quiet, angry voice in the back. The more he explained his side, the louder the voice got. Samuel could ignore it until he spotted a handsome face in the crowd, spewing out facts and opinions as to why he was wrong. The people around him were starting to stare too. The worry built up in him as he saw the people around this nameless face begin to nod and look disinterested in what they’d been listening to before in favor of this newcomer. Everything was going wrong. He could do nothing but watch as he lost all the support he had gained. A shocked, pained look grew on his face until he had to step away, speech forgotten. A message from the king had been delivered, but because of him, nobody wanted to hear it. It was all his fault. 

You’ll Be Back.  
King George III was a respectable man for the most part. He was a fear-inspiring, undaunted leader, able to take care of the empire as well as it needed. Of course. There was nothing that could have possibly prepared him for this, though. One of his colonies was trying to win their independence simply because he asked for a little tax money to pay off a war debt. How chiefly ungrateful of them! It was ignorant and rude, and they were going to be taught a lesson. As he brooded, he realized what he needed to do. He needed to issue a royal decree that America was to come back to him, or else. What that ‘else’ was going to be, he didn't know, but that colony would be back to him, no matter what it took. He let out a massive laugh, wondering what the colonists would feel when they heard his letter. They would most definitely be convinced, they would absolutely stop fighting and come back to him. It was far easier than putting up a fight. Go back into his welcoming arms, deal with the small amount of taxes, and be the better colony for it. 

Right Hand Man.  
Burr concentrated on controlling his breathing as he prepared to explain himself to Washington. This was going to do something for him, though whether it would be good or bad he had no idea. He could only hope to make a good impression on the General, someone who he’d looked up to his entire military career. In fact, just about everyone he talked to had an exceptionally lofty impression of Washington. The man was a genius when it came to warfare. It was absolutely in Burr’s best interest to ensure Washington’s support. Checking that his uniform looked pristine, he stepped into the room and gradually felt his world crumble as he was entirely denied by Washington. He tried to say things that would seem good to a respectable man like Washington, but his every attempt was deflected and he could see a clear dislike of him growing as he continued to speak. Everything that he tried cut into him like a knife. It was hopeless. Burr was starting to wonder why this was happening to him when he heard footsteps approaching, and saw Alexander enter the room. He was greeted far more enthusiastically than Burr, with the General visibly relaxing. The General seemed ecstatic that Alexander was here. Burr gave one last desperate glance towards Washington, but was only given a passive wave out of the room. He numbly stumbled his way out with a shocked, almost awed look on his face as he turned back to look at what he was no longer permitted to see. Alexander had gotten the job before he’d even stepped inside the room. It was impossible. 

A Winter’s Ball.  
Burr stared at Hamilton with frustration and tension building up with the new animosity that had come between them. Of course, they were still friends, but it was aggravating that Alexander was totally ignoring the opportunity that he’d been offered and instead was pushing to be given more than he already had. Instead of just looking at what he had, he was looking at what he didn’t have and letting that drive him. Shivering, Burr pushed the thought away. The night was cold but the ladies there were.. also quite cold. They seemed to be ignoring him to the best of their abilities, which was quite a boost to his already low mood. He forced on a smile and pushed his way into a ballroom, knowing that this party was being hosted by Philip Schuyler. That man could certainly get him a good wife if they got to know each other well enough. Of course, his daughters were probably off-limits to him, but he could deal with that. Philip Schuyler was a very wealthy man with a very favorable seat among the people, and it was an honor that Burr was going to his ball. So what if Alexander was also going? It was okay. He could be okay with what he had. Certainly. Absolutely. 

Helpless.  
Eliza wished she could be content with the company of her sisters. Though nearly nobody had believed it, before tonight she actually had been quite happy with just being able to talk and laugh with her siblings, but now everything had changed. Now there was a face to the man that her father had been trying to marry her off to. A gorgeous, so far nameless man that had strode confidently into the ballroom and captured the attention of the daughters of Philip Schuyler. Upon seeing him, Eliza had swiftly turned to her sister and decided, “This one’s mine.” She then turned directly back to whoever ‘this one’ was, not seeing her sister’s reaction as she was so enraptured with the way this man walked, and smiled, and laughed. There was a childish shine about him that was thrilling and refreshing to see, and his eyes gleamed with knowledge and a color so beautiful that Eliza couldn’t begin to describe it, not with all the words in the world. She became unaware of anything that was happening around her, entirely focused on trying to get the attention of this man. He was beautiful. The peace was shaken when Angelica started talking to him, but when he turned back and looked at Eliza, she was taken aback by how much she wanted to get to know this man. She quietly padded her way over to where her sister and the man were talking and promptly introduced herself, smiling at him. He looked incredibly pleased, and she was absolutely drowning in his eyes. With whatever it was she was feeling at the moment, she was absolutely positive that this was the man she was going to marry. Even if her father didn’t approve, she wouldn’t marry anyone else. This boy was hers, and hers to keep. 

Satisfied.  
Angelica concentrated on keeping her hands steady as she stood to propose a toast. She was the Maid of Honor for her sister, her first love in the world, who was now leaving her for her most recent one. As she began talking, she couldn’t help but remember that bitter night where Eliza and Hamilton first met. She’d been having a wonderful night with her sister when they both noticed him at the same time. Of course, she could do nothing about it, she was already married, to someone her father disapproved of no less. So, when Eliza laid claim to him, Angelica could do nothing but swallow hard and approach him, keeping herself restrained in conversation as to not suggest interest in any way. She had to swallow her pride for the sake of her sister. She and Alexander made small talk together. It was pleasant, but once she got him started he began to talk, eyes aglow and passionate, about his plans for the future and for himself. It was impossibly pleasurable to just talk to him. He was so young, but his words were so intelligent and thought-out within seconds. It was like speaking in that way was second-nature to him. After realizing she'd been caught up in his words, she remembered why she was there, and looked around for Eliza. She couldn’t see her sister for a second, but after the moment passed Eliza was standing there, right beside them. Angelica watched helplessly as Alexander greeted her sister in the same way he did her, with Eliza reacting much the same way as she had. It hurt to look at them, so she left. She had to find her way out of here. Hiding herself behind a wall, she forced herself to breathe. In and out, she had to keep breathing steadily. She ran a hand through her hair, not caring if her hairdo got a little bit messed up. It couldn’t look as frayed as she was feeling. When she was more calm she felt much the same way, but the memory stopped there. Angelica opened her eyes and she was back at the wedding, proposing a toast to her sister. Of course, she still loved her. She just happened to also love Alexander. 

The Story of Tonight (Reprise).  
The wedding was not easy for John Laurens. As he finished his best man’s speech, he realized that Angelica was feeling much the same way that he was, except that she’d known the bride all of her life instead of meeting her a few months ago as he'd done Alexander. But as he saw the tiredness in her eyes, the resentment, the reservation, he could tell that she was feeling the same bitter love that he was. Chuckling darkly to himself, he took another large sip of his drink. He felt it going down his throat, warming his stomach just a little bit more as the alcohol started to kick in. It was supposed to make him mellow, but it instead just made it easier to hide the bitterness, it didn’t do anything to get rid of the bitterness. Once the wedding was over and it was reception time, he could finally sit and drink just as much as he wanted to. He felt quite a lot better than he'd been in the wedding, because the alcohol was finally enough to drown out all his worries. Everything felt so much better with the drowsiness and energy of his friends. When Alexander walked into the room, though, everything changed once again for the worse. His throat tightened and his heart pulsed, breathing shallow and a tremor in his eyebrow. He wished he never had to feel this way. It was frustrating and impossible and he wanted to throw up or cry or leave. But Alexander was smiling, and goddammit, Laurens was going to smile too. He approached the newlywed and greeted him with a handshake and a hug, and in a true Lafayette-style move, a kiss to each cheek. “Hey. You’re gonna be a great husband.” He explained, a wide grin on his face. Alexander smiled back at him, filling John with the soul-crushing despair once more. He had to turn away. He needed another drink.

Wait For It.  
Aaron Burr smiled as he read a letter from Theodosia. She was so kind to him in all of her letters, making him feel as though he was worth more than what her past husband had been. She’d given up on her husband in favor of Aaron, because she loved him more. He traced over the words with his fingers, a casual conversation that was so comforting it felt more like a letter from a friend he hadn’t seen in years, instead of a letter from someone he got a letter from every single day. This was someone who loved him without reason or anything she could possibly gain from it. She was beautiful and kind and caring, everything he could have wished for. But, she was married. There was no changing the fact that he was having an affair with a woman married to a British officer. Nothing could compare to the love he felt for her, or the love she felt for him. It helped to fill the void in him that had been consuming him from all of the death in his life. The only fear he had with her was that he might lose her forever after this war was over. It was absolutely terrifying, the thought that he might be losing her soon. He felt his eyes well up with tears as he looked over the letter once more, a sick feeling to his stomach. 

Stay Alive.  
Alexander felt anger gnaw at him past the hunger that was consuming him. It was miserable and they were out of supplies, running out of men. The General himself wasn’t feeling himself, which was an absolutely terrifying thought. That absolutely had to be the reason why he’d promoted Charles Lee, a disaster waiting to happen. Looking back on it, his ineptitude would have been funny if it hadn’t been detrimental to the war and to dozens of men’s lives that were lost in his foolish mistakes. The man had given the British advice on how to defeat Washington. No matter how angry he’d been, absolutely nothing could have excused what he’d done. It was a stupid, horrible decision that could not have been made any worse. He also didn’t attack where he was supposed to and had enraged the General to the point of swearing, where he’d never audibly sworn before. Thinking about it made Hamilton tremble with rage, long after it’d happened. If only he’d been in command, then it would have been better. Less people would have died, they could have won the battle with far less of a fight. Lee had already declined the position before anyways, only taking it because he didn’t want to be outdone by Lafayette. The man was only in it for himself. It was unbearable and horrific. Hamilton needed his time to shine. And he needed to do something about Lee. Talking about it with Laurens only made it more clear, and Hamilton couldn’t help but agree when Laurens said he wanted to duel Lee. After a while, though, Alexander tried to convince him out of it. He didn’t want Laurens to die. The war was bad enough without the death of his friends. When he realized it was hopeless, Alexander placed a hand on his shoulder. Looking Laurens in the eye, he nodded firmly, a tremor in his voice as he wished the man luck in the upcoming duel. 

Ten Duel Commandments.  
Laurens gripped the pistol in his hands, huffing as he thought about what was about to happen. This man, Charles Lee, had made horrible, deadly mistakes, ending in the death of hundreds of men. He’d then slandered the name of the beloved General, causing a bit of distrust among the men around him for Washington. It was horrible, nearly unspeakable, what he’d done, and now it was time to pay. Now was the time for him to ready for the duel, to perhaps convince himself out of it, but the more he thought about it the more convinced he was willing to die for it. For the honor of the entirety of the men under the General, the safety of those same men in future battles, and the simple fact that he was passing rumors around was definitely enough. He could hear Alexander and Burr talking it out, but it was somewhat obvious that Alexander wasn’t quite making an effort. It was funny, just how much people were convinced that this duel was needed. He twisted around the pistol in his palm, feeling the sweat getting stickier as the morning sun rose. It was almost time. A few more minutes and he would be able to make everyone disregard Lee’s words against Washington, and prove yet further that what he’d done was impossibly wrong. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and he was being led to Lee. He refused to look him in the eye until they’d turned. They went back to back, each taking ten paces before they got to fire. Laurens drew his gun, looking Lee in the eye for a moment, then aimed for his side. Lee was injured, John was not. He had won. 

Meet Me Inside.  
George Washington had ridden all the way to wherever he’d heard a single gunshot and lots of arguing. Though it hadn’t been yelling, everyone still sounded aggravated. As soon as he got there, he understood exactly what had happened, and he was not happy about it. He heard a single whisper of, “It’s the General”, from a voice he didn’t recognize. When he saw Hamilton, he narrowed his eyes and turned away to a more dependable man. He ordered a medic for the injured Lee, because that was the right thing to do. Even if the man had insulted him, he was not going to insult the man back because he wasn’t a five year old and was not in the mood to act like one. He trudged back to camp, Hamilton trailing close behind him. Once he got to sit down in a more private area, it was discussion time. Why in the world would he have done something like this? Was it just you and Laurens’s idea or was someone else involved? Why do you have to go looking for a fight all the time? Amidst all the arguing, he got his answer. Just as he’d gotten every day in a row for weeks now. Entrust me with a command, give me a group of men to lead, I could do it in a less disastrous way, I have the ideals. Well, the war wasn’t about Hamilton, and he wasn’t needed right now. Head high, he ordered the young man to go home to his wife, knowing what would await him there and hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t go get himself hurt. The General didn’t know what he’d do without his right hand man. 

That Would be Enough.  
A son. How did she know it would be a son? How long had she known that it would be a son? It was impossible, and terrible, and wonderful, and terrifying. How could they provide for this child if he was poor as he was, and what if he wasn’t there to take care of him? What if this child didn’t have a father? The thought chilled him to the bone. His father had left him early on, and he didn’t want something like that to happen to his own son. It would be a cruel twist of fate that would make something like that happen. Alexander peppered Eliza with questions, and she seemed to be basking in his affection, grateful that he was back and she could tell him the wonderful news. And, sure, the news was wonderful, but he'd had a sort of falling-out with the General. It was possible that he wouldn’t be there for his son. At that point, nothing seemed to be going his way, but when he confronted Eliza about it she just smiled at him, took his hand, and told him to rest a little bit. She assured that everything was going to be fine in the end, and he knew she was right, he just wasn’t sure how long it would take. He did know, however, that he would try to be a little more cautious or fast in what he did so that he could come back to his son soon enough. 

Guns and Ships.  
Lafayette smiled to himself as he thought about what it would be like to have Hamilton back. Sure, Hamilton was a military strategist, brilliant writer, and a genius in General, but it would be fun to just have his friend back. And it was almost certain that he could get Hamilton back to serve with him, seeing as how he was definitely on Washington’s good side right now. He'd brought so much help that the outlook of the war wasn't nearly as bleak anymore.The French had finally decided that helping the Americans was a worthy cause, and now it was about to get exciting. They were getting to the point where, if they started to try just a little bit harder, everything was going to be a whole lot easier for them. After all, the Americans were fighting for something they truly valued and believed in, and the British were only fighting because they had been enlisted to do so. Lafayette spotted Washington, and a grin grew on his face. He rapidly approached the General, staying a respectful distance away while he discussed just how important it would be to get Hamilton back and commanding, despite the risks. Lafayette hadn’t wanted to lose Hamilton any more than Washington did, and both of them were keenly aware of that. After a few minutes of convincing, the General seemed willing to comply. It didn't even feel like Lafayette had to persuade him. Somewhere, deep down, Washington had probably known that Hamilton would be a factor that would bring them a lot closer to winning the war. The only thing they needed now was for the letter to come in and for Hamilton to arrive. 

History Has Its Eyes on You.  
George Washington was so incredibly worried for Hamilton. The young boy was about to get his first command. George knew that he'd been looking forward to it and it was the only reason he'd come back, so he couldn't exactly take it back, but.. Hamilton reminded the General far too much of his younger self. Brash and irresponsible at times, someone who might look for the easy way out of something instead of the right way out. It was not going to end well for Hamilton if he couldn't learn to control himself. When Washington watched Hamilton sit down in front of him, he knew what would have to be done to prevent a tragic loss of life. He started to tell the boy the story of his first command. Every disastrous detail, to the point where he felt the numbing sense of loss wash over him, as the death of his men had done to him all those years ago. From that day, the General had striven to avoid something like that from happening in any way he could manage. Even if it meant surrender, even if it meant that they lost the war, he genuinely cared about his men. Any good commander needed to do that. If Washington had to drill Hamilton up the head to make him learn this, he would. Even if it took Hamilton being grounded from battle for months, as soon as he learned this most important lesson, he could be free to go. Loss of life was something horrible and nearly unavoidable, but they would avoid it the best they could. 

Yorktown (The World Turned Upside-Down).  
Command was exhilarating. The feeling that Hamilton, on the back of his horse, was above the rest of these men and respected them, and that they respected him a dozen times more, was incredibly boosting to his morale. The war was exciting most of the time, but terrifying the rest of the time, especially now that he knew about Eliza and their child. The fact that he might lose his life was overwhelming, where it had used to be exciting. He knew he had a son, he knew he couldn't fail his family now. Back when it had been only him, martyrdom was a strong possibility. Now, he had Eliza to look out for, and his son to love with all of his heart. He couldn't do that if he was martyred in battle. Restless, he reached down and grabbed a handful of hair on his horse’s mane, letting go after a moment to calm the horse down. It was warm outside, there were gunshots and cannon fire, though less than he'd expected. He looked out at the men across the field, and began issuing orders. The men listened diligently to what he had to say, trusting that his command could take them through this battle, possibly to win the war. He had the help of Washington and Lafayette in this plan, and knew that it was incredibly likely that they could win the war with this, but it wouldn't be easy. The fighting would last for a few days at least, possibly a few weeks. Might as well get started on the best foot. As he issued a command to the last of his men, he set off on the battlefield to approach the British. This battle would be the one to end it all, he could feel it.

What Comes Next?  
The King knew that something was wrong when his servant began quivering before he gave a small bit of news. That always meant that they were terrified of doing him wrong, when of course he would be gracious to anyone who happened to deliver such news to him. He would be kind and it would be fine if they simply gave it to him right. The servant began speaking and George tensed, confused with what he was saying. No. His forces couldn't have possibly given up. They were the strongest army in the world, fighting against a bunch of useless, petty, dirty, stupid farmers. Shaking, he nodded his head, glaring at the man giving the news and enjoying the fear in his eyes that showed. When the announcement was over, he decided to give the servant a piece of his mind about the news that'd been delivered. Mid-lecture, however, another thought crossed his mind. He would write another open letter to America. What would be coming next for them? What hope could they possibly have in their future, seeing what intense debt they were already in because they had not given in during the war. Their loss was impossible, and incredibly impractical. If they had just decided to stay… Oh, but they hadn't. They'd condemned themselves to this life of loss and sadness, in which they would receive no further help from him. When the people begin revolting, it wasn't like he hadn't told them not to. Their fate was in their own hands now. George laughed at the thought that they might be able to survive on their own. It would take a miracle.

Dear Theodosia.  
The love that had been described to him when people had told him about children was nothing compared to what he felt right now. Looking down at his daughter Theodosia, Aaron Burr knew he was the luckiest man in the world. She was stunningly beautiful, angelic in nature, peaceful in her sleep. She was sleeping far better than the nights before, when she had been crying for minutes upon minutes, the sound of it pulling his heartstrings as he did his best to comfort her. He knew that whatever happened in his life, nothing would ever come between him and his daughter. Not disease, or romance, or politics. Nothing could force him and his daughter apart, because he was going to be here for her all the time. He wasn't going to let anything happen to her, because that would go against his belief that a father should always be there for his child. They would have something special, he knew it, because she was his first daughter. She was the prettiest girl in the world, the kindest person he knew. She loved him no matter what he did, which just made him even more sure that he would do everything he could for her. That kind of trust deserves to be returned and rewarded. As he looked down at his daughter once more, she stirred in his arms, stretching and yawning. Burr grinned, softly brushing against her cheek with his thumb. He placed a kiss on her forehead. He loved Theodosia. 

Nonstop.  
Angelica was shaking with excitement as she waited outside her sister’s home. She'd returned home from London, and now she was going to spend the entire summer with her sister and Alexander. It was going to be amazing, and calming, and absolutely perfect. As she pushed through the door, her eyes filled with tears. As she leapt into her sister’s arms, joy overtaking her until she could feel nothing but happy. Alexander hugged her for a long time, and murmured a soft, happy greeting as he pulled away from the embrace. A young Philip ran into the hallway to see what the commotion was, and she reached down to ruffle his hair. There was a wonderful exchange of conversation before they were all seated for dinner. Over the food, Philip recited a poem he'd written, Alexander talked about his political pursuits, and Eliza couldn't help but reminisce about what it had been like when they themselves were children. The conversation only halted when Eliza had to calm down a crying child, which just led to Angelica and Alexander getting a bit more personal in their welcoming back. Everything was happy until Eliza sat down. “Angelica, tell this man John Adams spends the summer with his family.” She requested after a moment. It took a little bit for that to fully sink in for Angelica. Alexander.. Wasn't spending the summer with them? The reason she'd come over here from England for? To spend her summer days with the two people she loved most? Alexander followed up with a, “Angelica, tell my wife John Adams doesn't have a real job anyway.” Angelica couldn't come up with a response that could possibly begin to convey all that she was feeling at that moment, only one of hesitancy and absolute, utter disappointment. She felt like crying again. She'd gotten so prepared for this, so excited, only to have her hopes crushed in the most devastating of ways. 

What'd I Miss?  
Thomas Jefferson paused in his doorway, inhaling the familiar scent of his home. Oh, it was so good to be back from France. Of course, it had been fun being there, but he had felt just a little bit homesick the whole time. It was now his time to return to his home. To his garden, his equipment, his bed. His servants, his land, his country. It was all his for the taking. Setting down some baggage, he noticed a note on a table. Not feeling like reading until he'd settled in, he plopped down on his bed and asked one of his slaves to fetch the paper for him. Upon opening it, he smiled. It's from the president, he noted to himself. Thomas was to be the Secretary of State, without even having to run a campaign for himself. Perhaps life in the states would be even easier than he'd first thought it would have been. How utterly fascinating. After a few minute’s consideration, he realized that he was supposed to be in New York in order to be in that cabinet meeting. A few minutes later, he realized that not only did he have to be there, but he'd have to say things. Important things. He might as well start preparing himself now. Taking a piece of paper and a pen, he began to scratch out his plans for America. 

Cabinet Battle #1.  
Alexander could feel that he wasn't going to get along very well with Mr. Jefferson. Even if he happened to be a good man, the fact that he was going to debate him on something as important and obviously beneficial as his plan was going to be hard to step around. A national bank could help America greatly, to survive the debt that they were drowning in. As a country, in order to survive comfortably, they were going to have to seal the deal on this bank. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for what he could be hearing soon, but nothing could have possibly done that. Instead of talking about what he believed to be true, he started praising his own accomplishments. Instead of trying to win the others over, he was exalting the south. It was horrible and stupid and Alexander felt as if he were going to explode if he couldn't get a word in edgeways. Turn-based arguing was stupid, this was stupid, Jefferson was stupid, everything was just so damn stupid. When it was finally his turn to speak, there was nothing that could possibly convey just how horrible this situation is or just how mad he was, but he certainly tried. He let the words, angry and frustrated, trying to convince the people but not knowing how due to just how stupid that last statement was. The people around him seemed stirred but unconvinced. He'd just have to try harder. 

Take a Break.  
Phillip read over his poem for what must have been the hundredth time that day. He wanted—no, he needed his father to be impressed with what he did for his ninth birthday. It had to be absolutely spectacular if he wanted to impress his father, and that was what he wanted most in the world. He loved his father more than anything, and would gladly trade that away to make his father happy. “My name is Philip, I am a poet..” He started before he heard his mother’s gleeful cry, telling him that Alexander was home. Philip quickly ran and hid his paper, running back to the door to give his father a hug. His father looked distant and unresponsive, trudging himself over to the study and sitting down at his desk. Philip frowned and looked at the ground. Of course he hadn't remembered. He was always so busy, he had no need to remember unimportant days like his son’s birthday. When dinner time came, his father still didn't seem to remember what day it was. Eventually, though, the time came and he got to read his poem. He started out nervous, but he saw his father crack a smile in the middle of it, and he gained confidence. He grew more enthusiastic and energetic, and his father was smiling and laughing, cheering by the end of it. Philip hugged him as hard as he could, and the feeling of his father hugging him back was the best thing he could possibly imagine. It was the best birthday present he could wish for, even if it was over too quickly.

Say No to This.  
Alexander didn't know how much longer he could go without any sleep. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something. He had water set on his desk but it seemed old. As he noticed his head drooping, he decided that it was high time for him to go and take a walk. The summer air was warm and wet, as if it were about to rain. As he pondered why the sky was so dark, he noticed a woman, quickly approaching him. She was absolutely stunning. She didn't introduce herself and instead went straight into an apology, explaining that she was a lowly woman, in title and money, and that she was a victim of circumstance. She asked for help, and Alexander knew he could provide. He entered his house, grabbed thirty dollars, and allowed her to bring him to her house. He would head home as soon as he knew this girl, Maria, was back on her feet. He waved goodbye to her when she was safe at home, but she requested that he come to her room. Why? He wasn't quite sure, but he wasn't going to deny her request. She laid down on her bed, spread her legs, and demanded that he should stay. Alexander felt the heat rising to his cheeks, the blood rushing through his body at the thrill of what could happen. A dreading voice told him that it was wrong, that he absolutely had to leave, but he couldn't. He should, but he wouldn't. Just one night. He could stay for one night. 

The Room Where it Happens.  
“Did you hear the news? The capital’s been moved to Virginia, the national bank’s been formed!” Someone informed Aaron Burr suddenly. Thoughtfully, he nodded, waving them away so he could stay in his own thoughts. So, Hamilton and Jefferson had made that deal they'd been talking about. How absolutely dreadful. They utterly hated each other, he knew that for sure. They were constantly at each other’s throats any time they had the chance, but he could see a silent, grudging respect between the two. Was that what had happened? Had someone forced them to realize that they respect each other for long enough to make a deal? Or was it something else? After all, nobody else had been there to witness it. It had been a private meeting that decided the future of the country. No big deal, of course. Not like those two men were doing anything important whatsoever. Burr trembled with resentment. If he'd have been there, he could have known what was going on. He could have told the country just what sort of business the two big enemies had been making deals in, the ways you could get them to agree. Instead, he was cast out. Shunned, as always, in favor of Hamilton. Everyone adored Hamilton, even though he turned and spoke poorly of them when their backs were turned, even though he was a ticking time bomb on saying something so stupid that he couldn't be allowed to lead the country. Soon enough, it would be Aaron’s turn, he knew it. The country would know him soon. As soon as Alexander could learn to share. 

Schuyler Defeated.  
Eliza tensed when she heard Philip reading the newspaper aloud. It spoke of her father being kicked off the senate in favor of Aaron Burr. The news may have been unhappy for her, but she was keenly aware that her husband would have none of this. It would be an offense to what he stood for. Quickly, Eliza stood and approached her son, reading the newspaper alongside him. He'd read it correctly, and it meant that Burr had changed parties once again. That was most definitely bad news for him, because it meant that Alexander was going to be coming after him. It couldn't be good for the health of either of them to be feeling that way. She had to go and stop the fight that was absolutely sure to ensue, for she knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. 

Cabinet Battle #2.  
Jefferson couldn't believe what he was hearing. This absolute prick was suggesting that they shouldn’t help out their allies in the time of greatest need. Had he forgotten that France had done that for America when it was fighting? Did he honestly believe that France’s revolution was less important than theirs was and therefore needed no help? His thoughts bubbled inside of him, desperate to be unleashed onto whatever unwilling host came to him first. As he argued his point, he found it being fought against by Washington. The president himself had come to tell him that he was, in fact, quite wrong and that he should just stop fighting and give in. Jefferson couldn't take that for an answer. He needed an absolute reason why he couldn't have what he needed, and therefore had to argue his point. Even if it meant fighting with the president, if it won France the support they needed, he would do that. Unfortunately, Washington was unshakable once he got a point in his mind. Frustrated, he sat down, only to jump right back up and accuse Hamilton of forgetting his friends. No matter what points he made, though, no matter what truths he revealed, he still lost. Simply because Washington favored Hamilton. Maybe that could be ended soon. 

Washington on Your Side.  
George Washington had noticed the stolen glances towards him, often times giving him angry looks. He had plenty of time to see them, as he spectate over every event and debate that went on in these formal areas, but he couldn't quite wrap his mind around why until today. He was watching Jefferson and Hamilton arguing once more, and had seen that Jefferson was trying to get his attention. Trying to get him to side with France instead of siding with America. When he had instead gone for Hamilton's idea, the dirty glances had magnified twofold. They were angry at him for siding with the wrong people, and it would seem that plenty of the people in the room assumed that the wrong people was Hamilton. The fact that he supported Hamilton all the time had apparently gotten on their nerves, and he had to find a way to appease them back into respecting his actions. His was not an opinion to be won, a trophy of support that could be displayed. He was a real, living person with his own set of ideals and beliefs who would very much side with whoever could convince him that they were worth listening to. How to show that, he had no idea, but perhaps he could try and give someone else a listening to. He was just so tired of trying to please everyone when it was impossible. Perhaps he could step down by the time his next term was supposed to roll around. It would allow for someone else to take on the trials and tribulations that came along with being president… Yes, he liked that idea. It would be so much easier for him if he could simply go home and rest, instead of trying to talk to all of these younger people, bursting with ideals and anger, he was past his politics phase. He just wanted to rest. 

One Last Time.  
Hamilton walked into the room as summoned, nodding respectfully at Washington before taking his seat. The president seemed hesitant, weary. As if he had news so bad he didn't even know how to say it. “Sir?” He prompted after a particularly long pause. The response he got was worse than what he'd imagined. Thomas Jefferson was running for presidency and Washington was not. It was going to be absolute madhouse, a scramble for power among some of the most influential people in the world. You know, perhaps Washington was right trying to get out of it while he had the chance. He's a very well-known man, to the point where almost everyone on earth knows his name. To know that if he were to keep pushing himself to his breaking point, everyone in the world would know who he was and who he used to be, the responsibility must be killing him. Hamilton quietly picked up his pen and started to record everything that Washington would need in a farewell address to the people of America. It was obvious that the country means a lot to him, but his own health was deteriorating due to the job and he needed to find his own break soon enough. After all, hadn't he done enough for the country already? He brought it from being an ideal to being a reality, and the world would forever owe him for that. The only thing Hamilton needed to do now was to show the rest of the world what he was thinking and have them understand. Help them to let go of the man they thought was perfect and let them think of him more as a man.

I Know Him.  
George was mad. Simply mad. A raving lunatic. Quitting his job like that? Abdicating the presidency? It was absolutely profound. If he'd worked all this time to bring his country into prosperity, why stop just now? Why not continue until the country actually prospered? The king laughed to himself, a cackle that chilled the air around him. His announcements were becoming a more and more gleeful event. He needed someone to talk about them with. His crown would have to do until he could find a proper friend. For the time being, he asked his newly found friend who in the world could possibly hope to replace Washington as the president. “John Adams,” it answered back quietly. What an intriguing choice. That man was the one who was so short, wasn’t it? The one who, when compared to Washington, was absolutely tiny. Tiny in size and in prestige, actually. His name faded when compared to the legacies of others. Perhaps that's how his presidency would go. He’d fade into obscurity while people wished for Washington to return to the presidency and make the country better than it had been. The thought delighted the King, to the point where he stood up and began to walk around the room. It was finally time that he could laugh at America. Their rules were so ridiculous. They had the chance to change out the leader every four years? How would they even get used to their new leader if it was already time for the next one to be chosen? The whole system was simply laughable. It made no sense from a leadership standpoint. The people would never be satisfied with their leader. The King couldn’t wait to see how this would play out, but he knew that it would be hilarious.

The Adams Administration.  
The company of men was absolutely rioting with laughter as they read about John Adams’s downfall by the hands of Hamilton. Hamilton's publicly written letters that had destroyed the hope that the country had shared in Mr. Adams. The people were now ensuring that he couldn't be the president. There was no way someone would elect him if they'd just read what Hamilton had written. And what was even better was the fact that it had been a very influential man from the same party as Alexander that he'd scorned. It was almost as if Hamilton was attempting to cause his own demise as well. So long as he was able to write, he'd be able to take people down. So, if he were writing about his own history, what could the democratic republicans get him to reveal? It was time to figure out.

We Know.  
Jefferson was absolutely convicted in his ability to convince the world what a fraud Hamilton was. He finally had the proof that he'd been cheating the system, abusing his power in such a way that it would damage the whole country. This information had the potential to entirely destroy Hamilton, but who knew at this point. All he needed was for Hamilton to not be able to explain what he'd done to make this happen. Unfortunately, of course, Hamilton was prepared. He had entirely planned for anything that might have come in his way, and he was obviously prepared for this. He set out a handful of papers explaining his spending history and how it matched up with a letter he was holding to his chest, seeming rather hesitant to share. Eventually Thomas pulled the paper out of his opponent’s hands, reading it aloud to the men around him. He got louder as he got more excited, absolutely shocked by what he was reading. Hamilton had been in an affair with someone married, while he himself was married. And had paid to keep it a secret. Oh, no, this was so much bigger than he'd thought it would have been. This was a thousand times better than embezzlement, it was absolutely controversial to anyone who had ever been married. He smiled as he handed the paper back to its rightful owner, knowing now what could bring his downfall. Whatever did happen, he knew it was going to make Hamilton look like a fool in front of the entire country. Even if it wasn't by his own hand, Hamilton was never going to reach his potential power with this group of men knowing what they now did.

Hurricane.  
Hamilton frowned, pursing his lips as he pondered what he could possibly do in this situation. He knew that if the word got out by the hands of his public enemies he would be scorned, but if it got out by his own hands he'd also be scorned. However, he couldn't allow it to stay a secret so long as it could be used as a weapon by his enemies. He knew what he'd done in the past to get himself out of s bad situation, and that was what he was going to do now. No matter what it did to him, it would be far worse than living out this lie that had been going on for far too long. He had to be honest with the world. Locking up a pen, he stared at the paper for a moment and began writing a letter, an open essay to America. This was just like any other essay. He would write it, it would be published, and people would read it. He started talking of his faults and his affair, how it was his choice and he would freely take the blame for it. Marks Reynolds had tempted him, b he'd taken the bait. James Reynolds had demanded money, and he had paid if by his own choice. Even if both of them had been the cause of his temptation, he was the one who had given in to it. He'd had an affair even though he was married to someone so sweet she would never dream of cheating on him. He'd had an affair while she and her children.. Their children had been off on a visit to their family, and he'd stayed behind because he needed to work. He'd worked himself too hard and made it too tired to think properly. No matter what anytime had to think about him after this, they needed to be sure they knew that this was his fault, and he was okay with that.

The Reynolds Pamphlet.  
The democratic Republican Party was celebrating when they discovered the existence of a very long essay, admitting guilt to a heinous crime. It was hilariously bad. The pamphlet was passed from person to person, tossed in the air and trod upon, danced upon, laughed at. A confession that would lead to political despair for Hamilton, possibly preventing him from entering any office that he may wish. This was amazing. Jefferson picked up a copy and began reading it, finding himself a bit drawn into the story despite his own qualms. It was interesting, that was obvious. Nobody could say that Hamilton hadn't poured his heart into making this, but he'd also poured his heart into the wrong person, and that simply would not be forgiven with the people in the country where he resided. The American people couldn't believe that he would have done something like that, something that could have put the bank into despair if he'd decided to withdraw from that instead of his own savings. It gave the people another reason to dislike him, if they didn't already dislike him because of his clothing choices, his money, or his name. People everywhere were jealous of him, and now that they'd found a reason that he wasn't quite as good as he claimed to be, it was clear that they'd never let go of it. Hamilton was ruined.

Burn.  
Eliza was shivering, though it wasn’t because of the cold. Though it had been rather chilly recently, she had a fire burning steadily in the room she was in and her clothes were definitely warm enough to deal with it. No, the shaking came from the realization of what she had just read. Observations on Certain Documents. A 97 page pamphlet about her husband and another woman, by the name of Maria Reynolds. Maria was eleven years younger than she was, and she was obviously better than she was because her husband had been locked in an affair for three years with her. Eliza’s hands shook as she delicately picked up a stack of letters, tracing over the words with her fingers as her hands continued to shake. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, feeling the warmth of tears burning at her eyes. The world came crashing down on her all at once, and she could no longer take it. She threw the letters away from her and watched as they scattered every which way, one of them getting caught in the fireplace. She slowly watched as it burned, and battled with her own internal monologue until she knew that she absolutely had to get rid of any proof that he might have loved her. He’d betrayed her and now it was her turn to betray her back. One by one she burned the letters, watching as they slowly burned down to dying embers. By the end, she was numb and had ceased shaking. 

Blow Us All Away.  
Philip walked confidently through the streets, smiling at every person he passed. They smiled back, some blushing. Some of the women turned to their friends and whispered or giggled, and Philip wished they wouldn't. With the scandals surrounding his father, it was bad that his looks could be tempting so many people. His family had become a laughingstock. A group of people who were too attractive for their own foods, who could end up being in relationships with anyone they met and never being satisfied with that. Why did his life have to be such a joke? He paused to smile at a group of people standing next to him, before clearing his throat and asking where he might find a George Eacker. That man was the main reason for the people to be thinking that way, and he was going to put an end to it. Today, he was on a mission. He would duel George Eacker, and it would show what kind of man they both were when the victor was decided. He needed to find this man, and fast. As soon as he could manage, he could put this man's reputation at stake and people would think better of him and his father when he won. He walked down the street, a look of grim determination on his face, today was the day. Once and for all had could prove his worth to his father. He could earn the love and respect of his family, who would finally see him for who he was. Someone who truly cared about what people thought of him, instead of just another pretty face in the crowd. He could finally have a name for himself, as the man who defended his father’s honor of died trying. Either way, he would have made his family proud. And George Eacker was a couple of blocks away. Everything was so close, he could feel it. 

Stay Alive (reprise).  
Nothing could have prepared Philip for the ripping pain that came through him when George fired his gun. It struck him in the side, creating a gashing wound in his chest. He stumbled back, entirely caught off guard by the bullet shot. He'd fired on seven. Not only that, but he'd fired while Philip clearly had his pistol aimed towards the sky. The boy could feel the blood starting to rush out of his side. Everything was so overwhelming. Philip blacked out, only waking up when he felt a cool hand touch his forehead. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he fully felt clear when his father shook him awake. Upon seeing his father, he opened his eyes and smiled, knowing he'd done what would have made him proud. He defended the legacy of his family until he'd died, even though he'd died from defending it. Small detail. He clasped a hand on his father’s cheek, smiling until it hurt, until tears pricked at his eyes and he couldn't take the pain. Barely awake, he spoke with his father for a few minutes, not noticing when his mother stepped into the room. Eventually, she flung herself into his arms. He'd never realized how beautiful of strong she was until this moment, when she was trying so hard to be strong for his sake, begging him to stay alive even though he knew the fight was lost. He'd died for something he was proud of and that was what mattered to him, but they couldn't understand. They loved him far too much to let go. He began to cry through the pain, not wanting to be missed like this. They weren't supposed to think of him that way. He needed to make them happy before he let go. Quietly, he began singing a lullaby Eliza used to sing to him when he was a child. He fought his way through the pain, but everything slipped away before he could finish the song, as pain enveloped him and became too much for his body to handle.

It's Quiet Uptown.  
Alexander wished he didn’t have to hear the word from the street about what was going on in his life. He wished he didn’t have to hear the standard, Oh, look at Hamilton, did you hear what happened to him? His son was killed in a duel. What a pity. When the people whispered, it made him long for just an area with some quiet. However, as he made his way uptown, it was far more quiet. The silence was comforting and welcoming for his aching heart, and no matter how much it pained him, he kept walking through it all. It was far better than standing there and listening to everything people had to say about him. Nowadays, he’d wander his way into gardens and marvel at how the world could be so beautiful and yet so incredibly cruel. The browning leaves all around him were no longer the beautiful signs of how life goes on that they used to be, and instead had transformed into a horrendous symbol of how something once young and green can die so quickly, and people walk on top of it without a second thought. They would crunch underfoot and nobody could care. He paused to look at the trees for a moment longer before grabbing one of the leaves from it. It was bright red with streaks of brown. It reminded him of the gray streaks beginning to appear in his hair. Since it was picked, the leaf would die soon. The thought drove him to the brink of tears. It’s just a leaf. He shook his head, turned back around, and began walking to his house. He needed Eliza with him.

The Election of 1800.  
Alexander felt utterly betrayed by everything that was going on. The world couldn't slow down and leave him alone to grieve the death of his firstborn son, who'd been killed by an unfair man who wouldn't spare the life of his child. Thinking about it made Alexander want to fight anyone who happened to cross his path. Today, that person was Aaron Burr. He was making his rounds through town, promoting his name in the upcoming presidential election. Neither of the people who were winning in the polls were a good choice in Alexander’s book, but it wasn't like he could do anything to change his options. The loneliness that was eating away at him hurt, but he'd have to leave it, according to the people of his party. He'd been receiving letters from all sorts of people, begging him to tell them who they should vote for. He had no idea who he favored, why was he supposed to choose for all of them? He'd have to think long and hard about it, because he had a frustrating history with them both. On the one hand, Jefferson was an annoying know-it-all who was constantly picking fights with him. On the other hand, Burr had no ideals that he could claim to be his own. He was constantly changing his political beliefs in order to benefit his own pursuits. Alexander felt his morale dropping as he debated between the two, confused as to who could be a better presidential candidate. Should he choose the man he disagreed with most of the time, or who never had any ideals he could disagree with? The choice became clear. He had to choose Jefferson, for the sake of the growth of their country.

Your Obedient Servant.  
Aaron Burr could hardly contain his anger when as he slammed the door to his house. He'd lost the election because Hamilton had gone and chosen his first enemy over him. Jefferson, the man he was constantly arguing with, the man who he practically hated, was better than Burr. He made the entire country think that he wasn't worth electing in several different elections, and it was time to put an end of this. He began to pace around his room, trying to find some way to find what he needed to say sound more important, more calm. He was supposed to be okay with this situation, as he was with every situation. It started out alright, with a pleasant opening and calm beginning, but in the middle he slipped into a darker tone, eventually demanding an explanation for Hamilton’s actions. This letter was going to be the first of many, he could tell, and hopefully he could put an end to Hamilton and his horrible antics now, since he finally had the chance. He could make people listen to him, because he'd found a seat of power even with the detriment that was Alexander Hamilton. He'd fought his way into this position and he would most definitely fight to keep it. The presidency could have gone either way easily before Hamilton stepped in, and now thanks to him he wasn't even Vice President. He was a little nobody that few people cared about because he'd lost the election so badly. Chuckling to himself, he wrote an ending to the letter. I have the honor to be your obedient servant, A. Burr.

Best of Wives and Best of Women.  
Alexander frowned as Eliza stirred in their bed. She was just a few feet away from him, and if she woke up to look at what he was writing, the duel would be called off. He wouldn't be able to silence the call of burr, demanding that they fight in order to figure out who was the correct man in the situation. The anger rose in Alexander as he pondered everything Burr had done wrong in all of his years, but after a moment it all calmed into an icy cool. Looking at Eliza, he realized all that he had in the world, but he couldn't not show up to the duel. He had to let his fate play out as it was supposed to, and he knew that the duel would be a part of it. He wrote frantically, explaining where he was going and what would happen if he died. Hamilton began to actually think about what it would be like if he was gone, how it would affect his family. What it would be like for Eliza to have lost a son and a husband in a duel. But if he killed Burr, Theodosia would be fatherless. She'd be alone and depressed and he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't orphan someone. If this duel was still going to happen, the only thing he could do is not shoot and pray for the best. Alexander distantly looked at Eliza, knowing that it may be the last time he ever got the chance. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing his wife on the forehead, but she was already asleep.

The World was Wide Enough.  
Hamilton froze as he felt the beginnings of a bullet piercing right between his ribs. He was taking a breath in, but the force of the blow knocked it right out of him. His eyes closed, and when they opened again, he wasn't seeing the world as it was. Instead his eyes, aimed towards the sky, found a glimpse of paradise. A shining, bright light belonging to a place full of people who loved him. Peopled he'd loved and lost from all times of his life were there, now, staring at him send reaching out towards him, ready for him to join them. From the glimpse he caught, he saw numerous faces, some of them unclear. When he blinked and opened his eyes again, the vision was gone, but the image remained. As he fell to the ground in pain, he could feel his eyes closing again. Laurens was waiting for him. His mother was there once more, not sick and still loving him as much as she had the day he was born. His son was there, young and healthy and happy. Washington was waiting with all of them, ready to greet Hamilton as soon as he was ready to join their ranks. But, as his eyes struggled open, he noticed a more blurry face, this one looking utterly distressed and heartbroken. He realized that it was Eliza, mourning over his body. The thought was humbling and terrifying, and it made him want to cling on to what little of the world he had left. He tried talking to her, but he couldn't hear anything coming out of his mouth. Growing desperate, he talked until his throat started to hurt and it got harder to breathe. But he never made any sound and Eliza didn't either, instead just sitting there and rocking him back and forth, leaning a little bit on an unseen person. Eventually Hamilton realized it was time to let go, and allowed himself to fade. At that point, his ears cleared, and he heard wails of despair. But that was all behind him now.

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.  
Eliza pondered her actions in the minutes before she died. The world was slipping away from her, and she was okay with that, so long as she'd been able to make a good impact on it. She'd given her everything in the years she'd lived, poured her heart out for those she loved and donated her money to those who needed it more than she did. She'd lived a good life. What was most important to her, however, was her husband and how people would think of him in the years to come. He'd died too early and the most important thing in his life was how he would be remembered, so as a good wife she took it as her responsibility. She gave money to the poor so that their lives could have benefit based off of the money he'd made in his life. She gave money to the Washington monument to help people remember the commander that helped him get on his feet. She interviewed every soldier who fought at his side so she could help explain just how good of a commander he'd been, how his strategies had helped to win the war. She tried to figure out what he'd been writing about in his non-stop stream of papers and essays, but everything was so overwhelming. It took her years to wrap her mind around why this man would have ever married her, and now it was taking her years to figure out who she'd really married. After she'd done that, she rediscovered her husband’s greatest trial: being an orphan. The loss of his parents had taken a severe toll on him and had motivated him to move on to greater things. Now it was Eliza’s turn to make sure that people didn't have to go through that same process. She'd opened the first private orphanage in New York City. Everything about that place made her happy, even when people were old enough to move out and get a job and a new life. The faces she'd seen pass through, the people she'd had the privilege to meet and impact, had all added to the experience that was her life. It wouldn’t have felt nearly as full as it was now without the ability to meet all of these amazing people. And it was all because of Alexander, because of everything he’d done for her. Now his story was told, and it was her time to join him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you guys liked this, because I sure enjoyed writing it. Leave a comment if you'd like me to make any of these short stories into a longer one.


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